


If the Lamp of Linked Souls Point to Your Heart

by Lunar_Resonance



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: AUs, Angst, F/M, Fluff, So many AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:11:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 18,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5559308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Resonance/pseuds/Lunar_Resonance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of SoMa drabbles, ranging from canon to AU, fluff to angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> @arialis (on tumblr) and I were discussing who would be the one to give Soul his hair gel usage intervention and my imagination got the better of me. Pure crack and not meant to be taken seriously at all.

Soul is completely shocked to arrive home one day after his weekly meeting with Kid to find Wes sitting on his couch.  His mind runs through all the possible reasons he could possibly be here when Maka, nervously twisting her hands together as she sits next to his brother, clears her throat.  “We’ve been waiting for you, Soul.”

 For one awful moment, he’s thirteen again, convinced he’s going to be left behind in favor for his brother again.  “Why?”

Wes shifts in his seat uneasily.  “There’s something we need to discuss with you.”

“I’m fine right here,” he answers stiffly.  “Just tell me.”

Maka exchanges a look with Wes before speaking.  “It’s the hair gel.”

The answer is a complete 180 from what he was expecting and it silences Soul for a solid minute.  Then he blinks.  “What?”

“There isn’t a surface in the bathroom that isn’t coated with it,” Maka says, scowling.  “I can’t even touch your hair without being my hand being glued to your head.  It has to go.”

Wes gently breaks in.  “Do you think there’s a compromise that can be reached?”

He’s too numb with relief to be offended at the moment but still he pretends to think for a moment, trying to pass a hand through his hair and  running into the exact problem Maka’s talking about.  Finally, he speaks.  “Yeah, sure.”

Maka smiles.  “Thank you.”

His brother stands and claps him on the shoulder.  “I’m glad we could find a peaceful solution out of this  _hairy_  situation, dear brother.”

“Please feel free to let the door hit you on the way out.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU. For the prompt: "Are you jealous?"

It’s not disappointment, Soul tells himself, that he’s feeling when Maka finally picks up the cat with the violet-black hair and declares her as hers.  

Not in the slightest.

Certainly not how he felt she had entered the shelter right at the end of his shift,  arrival announced by the cheesy parrot bell Marie insists on using in lieu of a normal bell.

Soul wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse when he had stepped out and recognized the girl in the bumblebee yellow jacket and violently purple combat boots as Maka Albarn; she had been the only one to answer the professor’s questions in their 8 am comparative literature last semester, which was probably half the reason he hadn’t flunked the class.

She’d also been the only one to ask him to be partners for group work in their discussion section and had always seemed interested in hearing Soul talk about his day, which was definitely the reason he’d harbored a tiny crush on her.  (He’d meant to ask for her number at the end of the semester but had failed spectacularly, doubt crushing his resolve.)

Not so tiny a crush, he’d realized as he had followed Maka around the shelter and introduced her to all of the animals, trying and failing to convince himself that his heart jangling in his chest and the knots in his stomach was due to her complete lack of regard for personal space and not the fact that he could smell her shampoo.

Maka had apparently recognized him too, chatting to him animatedly while she drifted from pen to pen.

“I’m surprised to see you working here,” she says, looking up from where she croons at her new pet in her cat carrier.  “I didn’t know you loved animals that much.”

“Yeah, well,” Soul mumbles as he fills out his end of the paper work, absolutely not stalling to stretch out his time with her.  “I...love animals.”

“Clearly,” she says wryly.  She straightens.  “Thanks for for being so patient.  I know it’s late.”

He shrugs.  “Not a big deal, I’m glad I could help,” he says, placing a hand on the carrier just as Maka does.  

“Sorry!” He jerks his hand back from hers and flushes, cool demeanor shattered.  “I, uh, should have asked if you needed help.”

Maka is either blind to his embarrassment or mercifully kind.  “Sure,” she says, her smile like a shot of adrenaline.  “I’m parked right in the front.”

“Nice car,” Soul comments as he places the carrier with a highly displeased and yowling cat on the passenger of an old jeep that appears to be held together mainly by duct tape and sheer determination.

“It’s a gift from my mother.”  She smacks him lightly on the shoulder.  “She bought it when she was my age.”

“It shows.”

She sticks her tongue out before cooing at the cat, shivering in the dying light. “I can’t wait to cuddle with Blair tonight.”

“Oh,” he says, heart twisting strangely.  “You’ve named her already?”  He must have reached a new low to be envious of a cat.

“As adorable as it is, ‘Precious Scrumptious Cutie Pie’ is not a name I want to be calling over and over,” Maka says, glancing up at him.  She studies him closely.  “Wait a minute, are you jealous?”

His eyes widen and he trips over his tongue.  “What, I, no-” 

She watches him with a smirk, eyebrow raised.  “Would you rather be there instead?”

There are no words he can summon, only choked sounds of denial.

Maka plucks a piece of paper and pen from her purse and scribbles on it.  “I didn’t ask to be your partner every time in lit class for nothing, you know.”  

She pushes the paper in his hands and grins before heading around to the driver’s side.  “You should call me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthday fic for sojustifiable! ‘Someone gave me a fake phone number and it’s actually yours’ AU

She didn’t want his number anyways.  In fact, it hadn’t even been  _her_ idea to go bar-hopping for her thirtieth birthday-Maka would have much preferred going out for a nice pasta dinner and the complimentary ice cream scoop, horribly out-of-tune “Happy Birthday” rendition by the waitstaff included.

Instead, she had been goaded into accepting Liz and Patti’s invitation to join the two and Tsubaki for a night out after Liz had pulled the cat lady card, whose stereotype she didn’t even fit, thank you very much-Blair was the one that adopted her and she hadn’t had the heart to turn her over to the pound.

All her determination to spite Liz had gotten her was a steadily building frustration at continually getting lost on the dance floor (it wasn’t her fault she had stopped growing at five foot two), being carded without fail at every bar and having gross comments about her skirt whispered in her ear whenever she danced.

So when the slightly weaselly but harmless-looking guy at the bar had struck up a conversation about work as she grumpily nursed a ginger ale, she’d been happy for a distraction-even if it had been mostly her listening to him gush over his boss, a professional book collector who could apparently do no wrong.

She’d realized after she spoke how it’d sounded to ask for his number but all she had meant by asking was possibly getting the chance to see and peruse through his boss’s supposedly ‘ultimate book collection.’

He had scribbled down a number on a piece of paper before she could clarify and, after finishing his drink, excused himself to get back to the dance floor.

Which had been more than fine with Maka-she’d been eager to be home.  After finding Liz extremely busy with Tsubaki in a dark corner of the room and having no clue where Patti had disappeared off to, she had left by herself with plans to stop at a late-night bakery to satiate her midnight food cravings.

Only to find the front tire on the driver’s side of her car completely flat and her spare nothing more than a limp rubber doughnut.

She’d tried calling Liz, Tsubaki and Patti several times in vain before digging in her purse for the guy’s number and finding out that she had somehow been rejected by someone she hadn’t even been interested in dating in the first place.

All of this she rants to the poor stranger who answered her call.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and screws her eyes shut, cursing whatever force at work determined to make her life a purgatory of headaches and inconveniences.

The person on the other line speaks for the first time after answering her, his voice husky, as if he had just woken up.  “That sucks.”

Maka opens her eyes in disbelief.  “You’re still here?”

“Wouldn’t it have been rude to hang up?” the voice asks.

She smiles in spite of herself.  “I suppose.”  She gives the flat tire a dark look.  “Well, I’d better go.  Thanks for listening.”

“Wait,” the stranger says quickly.  “I have a spare tire you can use.”

She frowns skeptically.  “Do we even live near each other?”

“If by here, you mean Death City, then yes.”

“Oh,” she says.  “Well…” she trails off before starting again, “Listen, we don’t know each oter and I don’t want to trou-”

“I am not a serial killer,” he interrupts.

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”

She can feel his eye roll through the phone.  “I’m trying to help make your birthday better, not shittier.”

Maka considers for a moment.  Then she speaks.   “You know where the Devil’s Pit is?”

“Yeah,” he answers.  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” she says before pausing for a moment.  “I’m Maka, by the way.”

“Soul.”

* * *

She eyes the hideously obnoxious orange motorcycle that pulls up next to her car in the parking lot and then its rider.  “Isn’t that a painful color to look at all the time?”

“My bike has to look as weird as me,” he answers as he takes off his helmet, shaking out a mess of snowy hair.  “Gives people something else to talk about.”

She takes a few steps closer to get a better look at him. “That can’t be real.”

“As real as these.”  He flashes a mouth full of jagged teeth at her.  He plucks up a tire and bends over to retrieve a tool kit from the motorcycle’s side car, flashing a tiny band of tan skin between his shirt and pants.  Even in the dim light, she can see the lean set of his shoulders.  “Need a hand with this?”

“A couple.”  Maka corrects herself hastily.  “I mean, yes.”  She feels a blush beginning to form on her cheeks-she hadn’t expected her reject number to be hot.

As she helps Soul wedge in the jack, she glances over at him from underneath her eyelashes.  “Sorry for making you get out of bed.”

“Not like I was getting sleep anyways,” he grunts as he cranks the handle.  His eyes snap to her and he adds quickly,  “I have insomnia.”

She laughs at his expression.  “I believe you.”

* * *

Soul wipes his head with his arm.  “All finished.”

Maka opens her mouth just as she feels a drop of water land on her face.  She looks up at the sky.  “It wasn’t supposed to rain till Monday.”

Soul grabs his helmet from his bike.   “That’s the weather for you.”

“I can drive you home,” she says.  “You’re going to get soaked otherwise.”

“I’ll be fine,” he answers, shaking his head.  “You’d better get going before it gets too bad.”

She grabs him by the arm.  “No way, you’re going to get sick and I won’t have that on my conscience.” The wiry muscles in his forearm flex underneath her fingers and Maka lets go, taking a step backwards.  She stares up at him.  “Let me give you a ride, Soul.”

His eyes scrutinize her for a beat before he relents. “Fine.”

She smiles.  “A wise decision.”

They get the motorcycle loaded in the trunk before the rain starts to pour.  Maka starts the car and glances to Soul.  “So where do you live?”

“Gallows Apartments.”

She brightens.  “Oh, I know where that is.”

“Not going to be standing for long,” he says as they pull out of the parking lot.  “They’re tearing them down and making new apartments across the street.  Dunno if I’m going to move into them or somewhere else.”

“Trust me, the new ones are going to be nice.”  She grins at him.  “I’m the one designing them.”

He blinks once and then says, “Mind if I put in a request for soundproof walls?”

She gives him an amused look.  “You’re a musician?”

“Of a sort,” he says uncomfortably.  “Only the piano and guitar.”  He changes the subject.  “How did you end up being an architect?”

Maka recognizes a touchy subject when she sees one so she immediately launches in the story of how she’d been all set to get into medical school and follow in her godfather’s footsteps when a chance internship at a designing firm had changed her mind completely.

It’s only after they’ve been sitting in front of the apartments for ten minutes that she realizes how much she’s talked.  

She cuts her sentence off and thrums her fingers on the steering wheel.  “Sorry, I rambled a bit too much there.”

He shakes his head.  “I enjoyed listening, it was an interesting story.”  He gazes at the rain splattering against the windshield.  “Gives me hope I’ll be able to find something after college.”

“College?”  She arches an eyebrow.  “With that hair, I thought you were older than me.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”  His eyes shift to her face and grins. “I’m twenty-four, got a late start in college.”

She gives a mock groan.  “There it is, the thing that finally makes me feel old.”

Soul laughs.  “If that’s old age, you make it look good.”

“Thanks,” she says dryly, meeting his eyes.  In the low light, they’re a deep burgundy and a bit more than mesmerizing.  She blinks, clearing her throat.  “So I’ll let you know when I’m stopping by to return the tire.”

He waves away her words.  “It’s fine, keep it.  I don’t need it.”

“I’d feel bad,” she insists.  “I’ll text you on Monday after I get a new tire.”

“Fine,” he sighs, unbuckling his seat belt.  He pauses before opening the door.  “Uh, let me when you get home, okay?  The rain’s getting nasty.”

Maka ignores the tiny fluttering in her heart.  “I will.”

* * *

It’s Saturday and the tire still hasn’t been returned.

And, Maka thinks as she sends Soul the latest picture of Blair as she waits in line to buy a new tire, she’s not sure she  _wants_  to give it back.

She’d had to wait till Monday when the tire shops were open to buy a new one.  At least that had been her plan until Kid had called at five in the morning, a new crisis in the apartment designs found.

All of which she informed Soul as she ran out of her apartment.  He’d replied with wondering if she was ever up at the same time as normal humans before sending a heart-warming “don’t die.”

She, in turn, had replied by sending a skull and bones emoticon before switching her phone on airplane mode, figuring it the end of the conversation.

Which made it that much more surprising when she checked her phone after a mad dash of morning meetings to find a “how are you?” message from him.  It’d touched her and was probably why her answer was more unfiltered than usual; from there, their conversation had stretched all through the rest of the day and ended only when she was about to go to bed, Maka promising she’d be by to return the tire tomorrow.

But after that, more and more problems had cropped up at work, swamping her into overtime hell.  Admittedly, she had texted Soul with updates that may have been more than was strictly necessary but he was the one who kept the conversation going, responses full of snarky wit and more emoticons than she would have expected of him.  Plus, for the past two days, he’d been the one to text first.

That it made Maka so happy confirmed how her initial attraction to Soul had formed into a full-fledged crush.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket as she pays the cashier, making her stomach backflip and proving her point.  She glances at the time before replying to Soul’s message with a picture of the new tire on her car and asking if she could drop it off now.

She grins in victory when he responds with a yes, part one of her plan a success.

He’s waiting outside the apartments when she arrives.  She shivers at the brisk wind as she steps out of the car and gives him a smile.  “Hey.”

“Long time, no see,” he says.  “Nice to see you’re still among the living.”

“Barely,” she sighs.  “You?”

“Managing,” he replies.  “Those pictures of Blair were a highlight of my week.”

“Glad to hear that.”  Maka swallows her nervousness and speaks before she can lose her nerve.  “You know, I wanna get to know you better and since it’s almost lunch, I was thinking that I could treat you to a meal for every-”

He steps closer to her.  “Are you asking me out?”

She peers up at him, heart hammering in her chest.  “Yes.”  It sinks to her stomach when Soul begins to laugh.  Her face burns and she turns away.  “Forget it.”

“No.”  Soul grabs her hand, wearing a sheepish smile now.  “It’s that I’d just thrown lasagna in the oven because I wanted to invite you up.” He runs a hand through his hair.  “Give you the birthday dinner you wanted.”

“Oh,” Maka says, blinking.  “I see.”

She holds onto his hand when he makes to let go.  “I always did prefer homemade meals.”

The relief on his face is transparent.  “Excellent.”

As they enter his apartment building, she asks teasingly, “And are you going to sing me happy birthday too?”

He grins.  “Guitar and all.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon drabble. Post-Baba Yaga arc.

“More fangirls got my locker confused with yours.”  Maka plops a small pile of letters on Soul’s lap and takes a seat beside him on their couch. “Again.”

“Not my fault our lockers are next to each other,” he answers, glancing at her.  “And I never open them so you could have thrown them away.”

“Some of them are a different kind of partner request.”  She opens her book and studies her page with narrowed eyes.  “Wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

Soul pauses in clearing the letters off his lap.  “Are you jealous?”

“What?” Maka stiffens and turns the death glare she was giving her book on him.  “No, of course not.”

He stifles a grin at her miffed pout.  “Sure seems like it.”

“Well,  _I’m not_.”  She pauses and her scowl deepens.  “But if I was, it’s only because I should be getting those requests.”

“Which one?”

“Both,” she fumes, closing her book with a snap and punching him on the shoulder.  “I’m the one that made a you a Death Scythe.”

“There’s more to it than just that,” he shoots back, rubbing his shoulder.

She arches an eyebrow. “Like wait?”

“I don’t know.”  He considers for a moment.  “A certain kind of appeal, I guess.”

“An appeal,” Maka repeats. Her face suddenly becomes thoughtful and she scoots towards him.  “That you think I don’t have?”

He shrugs in what he prays passes as nonchalance.  “Well, you have the whole ‘schoolgirl with a penchant for violence’ down.  But it’s not what everyone is looking for.”

She dips her head so she can meet his eyes.  “That’s not an answer.”

Her face is so close that her breath grazes over his skin, which short-circuits his brain in a way that all he lets out is an intelligent, “Mhmmm.”

“Tell me this.”  Maka’s lips ghost over his.  “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

Soul has to look away to keep from leaning in.  “No.”

“I see.” Maka pauses and for a moment, he can feel exactly how soft her lips are.  Then, she returns to her spot on the couch, wearing a satisfied smile. “Thank you for answering my question.”

He rolls his eyes and wills his heart to stop pounding.  “Anytime.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Soulffles (on tumblr) "I’m drunk on public transport and you’re high and we both keep looking at each other knowingly AU."

As she entered the subway, Maka congratulated herself on putting up a good front of appearing relatively sober.  

Blake had exceeded himself as usual, leading the bar in a horribly off-beat rendition of “Don’t Stop Believing” along with Patti.  Even Tsubaki had gotten drunk enough to leap atop the bar’s counter to dance, taking a reluctant Liz with her.

She smiled smugly, sitting down.  But not her-she had made it out of the bar with her dignity intact.

“Um.”  Her seat moved underneath her.  “I think this is against airplane regulations.”

Maka stared steadily into reddened eyes of the man whose lap she was perched on, leaning closer.  She licked her lips and gave him a slow onceover.  Lifting her hand, she placed her palm against his face, feeling rough stubble on her palm.

Finally, she spoke.  “You’re not a chair.”

She felt the muscles of his jaw move as he chuckled, breath hot against her cheek.  “Was it that obvious?”

Ignoring the goosebumps forming on her arms, she narrowed her eyes.  “And we’re not on a plane.”

His laughing stopped.  He rubbed his eyes furiously.  “Shit.”

“Shit-faced, you mean,” she corrected, a small hiccup at the end ruining her delivery.

His lips lifted in a small smirk.  

The soft swish of the subway doors closing snapped Maka back to what remained of her senses and she leaped to her feet.  Swaying awkwardly, she fumbled with her purse before glancing up.  “So,” she said.  “Sorry.”  And with that, she crossed the aisle, patting the seat cautiously before sitting down.

She felt his eyes on her the entire subway ride.  Occasionally, she flicked her eyes in his direction, unable to stop from smiling when their eyes met.

He got off before she did, getting to his feet with some effort.  He didn’t look at Maka as he passed her but when he got to the door, he turned around.  “See you around, subway girl.”

The doors closed before Maka could answer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quidnunc-one who always has to know what is going on.

When Soul finds her after class, Maka is staring down intently at a letter, a tiny smile playing at her lips.  He rests his chin on her shoulder.  “What’s that?”

Her reflexes are too fast for him to catch more than a glimpse of the letter.  She shoves the letter into her binder before turning to glare at him.  “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had to.”  She closes her locker and starts to walk to their next class.

Soul falls into step with her.  “Was it another partner request?”

Maka keeps resolutely silent.

“Or was it your creepy dad?”

She scoffs but makes no other answer.  

He struggles to keep his voice light.  “Then it’s a love letter?”

Her eyebrows lift.  “Are you going to keep this up the entire way to class?”

“And past that.”

She sighs and gives him a sideways glance, eyes filled with the same appraising look she wears before battle.  “It might be best if you didn’t know.”

Soul’s heart plummets to the center of the earth, mind filling with visions of awkward third-wheeling, cuddle-free movie nights and empty apartments.  Gritting his teeth, he gives himself a mental shake and attempts to pay attention.

“…does include you,” Maka finishes.  

He blinks.  “What?”

Maka’s face is pink.  “It’s your brother, okay?”

Several spring to Soul’s mind at once and come out in a jumbled mess: “You’re dating my brother?”

She scowls.  “Have you not been listening at all?  He called on day and now we’re pen pals.  I was meaning to tell you but well-”  She breaks off and she fidgets with her glove.  “Are you mad?”

Relief makes him feel almost giddy.  “I’ll yell at Wes later.”  He pauses as her words sink in.  “Wait, what do you talk to him about?”

She grins.  “We mostly swap stories about you.”

“Such as?”

Her smile grows wider.  “That you will never know.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU prompt fill for: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Maka flops back on her bed and exhales, the springs of her dorm-issued mattress pressing against her spine uncomfortably.  The sweltering Nevada heat sinks into her bones and she curses her luck again for being assigned the room with the broken air conditioning.

She nearly regrets not taking her father’s offer of getting her an apartment for college. But if she had accepted, he would have visited until contriving a way to to move in and there was no way she was enduring that for four years (as it was, he’d already called five times in the three hours since he dropped her off.) 

Sitting up, Maka roots around in the boxes on her bed until she finds a bikini top buried at the bottom of one.  Stripping off her shirt and bra, she changes and puts her hair in a ponytail, shooting a glare at the room’s useless AC unit before continuing to unpack. 

“Hello?” 

She turns her head to the open door.  A boy in a beanie and dressed in all black stands in the doorway.  Maka’s never seen him before in her life but she immediately knows who he is.

“Hi,” she says, straightening.  “Tsubaki stepped out for a bit but she’ll be back soon.”

The boy blinks.  “Okay.” 

His eyes are an impossible red and Maka hopes her new roommate’s boyfriend isn’t a wannabe vampire.  She clears her throat.  “Um, you can wait here, if you want.”

He gives a slight jerk of his head that she figures means thank you and steps into the room.  Up close, she can see muscles outlined by his shirt, his figure lean but strong.  She rolls her eyes to cover up the onceover she gave him and goes back to sorting her books.  “You can take a seat.  I don’t bite, you know.”

She tells herself that the sudden fluttering in her stomach when he laughs in a low rumble is from the tacos she ate earlier, ignoring how her heart picks up speed.  Licking her lips, she waits a moment before saying, “I’m Maka, by the way.”

“Soul,” he replies.

Maka glances at him from where he perches on Tsubaki’s bed.  “That’s an interesting name.”

He smiles, revealing two rows of sharp teeth.  “Weird, you mean.”

“I like weird,” she says a little too forcefully.  Her mouth runs dry and she begins to say something but the words die in her throat.  Resisting the urge to fling herself out of the window, she goes back to her books.

She jumps when Soul speaks, right in front of her.  He looks at the neat stacks she’s piled up.  “English major?”

“Comparative literature.”  She peers at him, fingers turning clumsy when he sits next to her.  “You?”

“Undecided.”  He picks up a book.  “But my parents want me to go into music.”

“So you’re a musician?”  She places her final book on a stack.

“In a sense.”

Maka frowns.  “Do you play an instrument?”

He sets the book down before meeting her eyes.  “I’ve played the piano for a while.”

“Then, you are.”  She smiles.  “I’d like to hear what you sound like.” She adds quickly, “Playing the piano, I mean.”

Soul hesitates for a moment.  Then he says, “I have some recordings from my recitals if you wanna listen sometime.”

“Of course.” Her grin fades, conscience kicking in.  “So,” she begins, “How long have you known Tsubaki?”

Soul’s eyebrows furrow and he looks almost confused.  “Not too long.”

Maka blurts out her next question.  “And do you like her a lot?”

His voice becomes slightly bewildered.  “I suppose so.”

She swallows the lump in her throat.  “Good, I’m glad.”  Abruptly, she stands.  “Well, I’m going to the dining hall.”

Soul rises as well.  “I’ll go with you.”

“No.”  She relaxes her hands, which have formed into fists.  “I don’t think that’d be good.”

Soul’s expression is absolutely flummoxed now.  “Did I do something wrong?”

Maka shakes her head.  “I’ve got to go.”

“Wait.” Soul grabs her hand.  “Are you jealous?  Of Tusbaki?”

She refuses to answer but stares at him stubbornly.  

To her surprise, Soul starts to laugh.  “Maka, Tsubaki and I aren’t dating.”

It’s her turn to be surprised now. “What?  She told me she was expecting her boyfriend to come by.”

“She’s dating my roommate.”  He’s still chuckling.  “I came looking for him because we were supposed to go to dinner together.”

“Oh.” She pauses, face heating up.  “Hold on, why did you stay then?”

His thumb runs across her knuckles before he releases her hand, scratching the back of his neck.  “I kinda wanted to get to know you better.”

Maka interlocks her fingers with his.   “And so do I.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-canon drabble.

“Words only get in the way of what you’re trying to say,” Sid declares on the first day of training. He presses a finger to his lips.  “So no talking.”

Maka accepts the direction with excited glee and turns to her partner confidently, already reaching out.

He raises an eyebrow at his partner’s eagerness and stifles a yawn.  She chastises his disrespect by leveling a razor gaze at him and he answers with a shrug of slouched shoulders.  In reality, he yawned because his nerves kept him from sleeping last night but it’s not something he would tell her, even if he could.

She handles him with ease at first.  But mid-swing, she feels the scythe grow heavy in her hand and nearly break her grip; the balance no longer lies in the center of her palm and he topples out of her hand and onto the ground.

He transforms back to himself and rubs his head; his stare is baleful but her glare is cutting.  In it, he sees all the disappointment of his former instructors and his parents.  He returns it with a scowl but his heart begins to pick up speed.  He gets to his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets, face shaped in a well-practiced expression that is sure to make her storm off.

She seizes his hand instead of holding hers out.  She bends her knees slightly and fixes her stance as he transforms.  Failure is not an experience she is used to nor one she is planning on getting to know.

Her touch burns him. She is a scorching fire his steel can’t handle and he is forced out of his weapon form rather than choosing to transform back.  He lands on his feet, the familiar feeling of failure burning a new hole in his stomach.

It’s nothing like the day they met.  The day she heard his song and felt it echo a melody inside her, a song she didn’t even know was playing.  He sticks to her gloves like glue, the friction of his soul against hers harsh and caustic, before he abruptly gives up.  She opens her mouth before she remembers Sid’s instructions and chews on the words she longs to hurl at him.

He stands in sullen silence next to her for the rest of the period, pointedly looking away.  He doesn’t know where they went wrong.  (He doesn’t know where he went wrong.)

The tension between them doesn’t dissipate.  It settles between them comfortably and he rebuffs her every time she tries to bring it up. Her fury builds steadily and announces itself with her unnecessary slamming of the dishes as she fixes dinner.

He sits on the couch with the remote in hand.  The racket she makes in the kitchen hurts more than the questions she threw at him after class because she’s given up trying to talk to him.  It’s his fault he knows but that doesn’t take away the sting of her silence.  His feet rest on the coffee table, something he knows she hates.  But not once does she scold him.

Dinner is the clink of utensils and nothing else.  She stabs her pasta viciously, table rattling with the force of her anger.  She longs to yell at him but she refuses giving him the satisfaction of giving in first.

He pretends not to notice her peeking at him, her expression equally mixed with ire and concern. Instead, he gets up from the table as soon as he’s done eating, places his plate in the sink and lopes out of the front door without saying good-bye.

She stares up at the ceiling from where she rests on her bed, room slowly darkening.  Books lie strewn on her floor in a haphazard mess.  She rages against herself for perking up at the slightest sound, mistaking the noises of the apartment for the tell-tale creak of the door opening.  One, two, three hours pass and her eyes are wide open, head aching from pent-up frustration.  She kicks off her blanket with sudden decisiveness.  If he wasn’t willing to put in an equal share of effort in their partnership, then why try putting off the inevitable?

He’s not sure why he came to the training grounds.  If he’s useless with a meister, he’s definitely no good without one.  He tries to picture returning home.  Wes and his parents would be happy to have him back but he would know and they would know that he had failed again.  He scuffs his shoes against the ground; he might as well act now, get it over with.  But still he stays on the ground and walks aimlessly.

A glint on the training grounds catches her eye on the way to the DWMA.  She recognizes him by the yellow and red of his jacket and she’s not sure which is stronger: her relief or her anger.  She wheels toward him and he turns at her footsteps.  Her mouth opens to lay on him the full brunt of her fury but the words die on her lips when their eyes meet.

He stares at her and she stares at him.  His fingers curl and uncurl and he wets his lips.  Now is the time to speak but he only holds out his hand, expression defiant.  

She sets her mouth in a line and answers the challenge in his eyes with the interlinking of her fingers with his.

The grating grind of his soul against hers from earlier is still there but he pushes it away.  He reaches for the energy they create when they’re together like this, the sound of the wind whistling as she whips him through the air, the satisfying thunk of plunging deep into a target.

He is still heavy in her hands, movements uneven and awkward.  She ignores it and searches for the flow of their first meeting, pushing away her impulse to take control.  His wavelength beats underneath her fingers like a tiny metal heart and she moves at its rhythm, steps light and graceful.

_They move together, they move as one.  Where one begins and the other ends is a mystery for she is as much an extension of him as he is of her._

_They break away as the moon begins to dip below the horizon, both covered in sweat.  But they’re smiling at each other, doubled over as they gasp for breath.  The pulse of the other’s wavelength lingers in their bones._

This is the beginning of their dance.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon prompt fill for: "Take it off."

She only took Soul’s old jacket because all of her other jackets were dirty, Liz and Tsubaki were waiting on her and as far as functionality went, boys’ jackets were far more superior than girls’ jackets.  She’d be able to put it back before Soul noticed, if he even noticed.

She truly had every intention of returning it.

But as she was hanging the jacket up, Maka noticed all the tiny tears at the sleeves, the worn away fabric and the frayed hem.  There was no way that Soul, second only to Liz in fashion choosiness, would wear it in that state.

Maka only hesitated for a second before taking the jacket.  Better it going to her than a trash bin.  She stowed it in her closet and brushed off the vague prickliness of guilt by resolving to mention it casually to Soul whenever he noticed.

True to form, Soul noticed two months later.

“No,” she lied easily when he asked, “I haven’t seen it.” She turned the page of her book.  “Maybe you accidentally threw it out.”

He frowned skeptically at that but didn’t contradict her.  When he finally stopped looking for it, Maka celebrated silently, considering herself safe.

She hadn’t figured in for a magical cat, however.

Soul wasn’t with Maka when she came home from school early one day, still out training with the other weapons.

“Hi, Maka,” Blair said cheerfully from the couch.

“Hey, Blair,” she replied, setting her backpack on the kitchen counter.  She turned.  “How-”  The rest of her sentence stuck in her throat as she took in Blair lounging on the couch, wearing Soul’s jacket.

Her voice came out in a half-whisper.  “What are you doing with that?”

“I found it in your closet,” Blair answered cheerfully.  The look in her eyes turned sly.  “I thought you told scythe boy you didn’t know where it was.”

“Take it off,” Maka whispered.

Blair frowned.  “What?”

She found her voice, drawing closer to Blair.  “You heard me.  Take.  It.  Off.”

“Or what?” Blair asked innocently.  “You’re going to tell Soul?”

Maka launched herself at Blair as the door to the apartment opened.  “Give it to me!”

“Uh, what’s going on?”

The sound of Soul’s voice made Maka and Blair pause in their struggle.

From underneath Maka, Blair blinked away her surprise, a wide smile spreading across her face.  “Hi scythe boy!”  There was a poof of purple smoke.  

Maka let out an “oof” as she landed on the couch, jacket in her hands.

Blair jumped up on the open window sill and licked her paw.  “I think you two have a lot to talk about.”  With a flick of her tail, she jumped out of the window.

“I am going to take her other eight lives,” Maka muttered.

“You lied to me.”

She felt her face burn as Soul came closer, pointing a finger at her.  “You made me think  _I_ lost it.”

Her fingers curled around the jacket.  “I was only borrowing it,” she said hotly. “I meant to give it back.”

He scoffed.  “I spent forever searching for it and you never mentioned anything.”

“Yes, well when you asked about it, it had already been months so I thought it’d be weird to give it back after all that time,” she answered defensively.  “And you never wear it anyways.”

“So you thought you would,” he said, raising his eyebrows.  He grinned suddenly.  “Tell me, would you wear it to bed?”

She hurled a pillow at him.  “Get your mind out of the gutter.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon prompt fill for: “Because you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

He agrees the first time because he’s twelve, he’s still caught in the web of the dream his new meister woke him from and if he goes back to bed now then he’ll have exactly four hours and twenty six minutes to sleep before he has to get up.

“Sure, fine, whatever.”  He stifles back a yawn, squinting at Maka.  “Happy?”

“Yes.”  She breathes a sigh of relief, the worry line creasing her brow gone. “Good night, Soul.”

Sleep claims him so quickly he barely has time to utter more than a muffled “mmmph.”

The second time she asks, it’s a few days after he was released from the hospital wing and the cut across his chest still itches with a burning sensation that makes him want to rip his hair out.

He eyes his meister curled up on the couch, body close enough to touch but soul stuck somewhere he can’t reach.  Her gaze is fixed on the TV but her grip on the control is ironlike.

“Why are you asking me this?” He stuffs his hands under his legs to keep from itching.  “It’s not like that’s not going to happen.”

Her shoulders shrug mechanically.  “We didn’t think this was going to happen either.”

He has no argument against that so he tries a different tack.  “Don’t you think this is something you should ask your dad?”

“If I thought it was, then I would have asked him already.”  She finally looks at him.  Her eyes are dark from the needless guilt she insists on carrying.  “Please?”

He doesn’t answer and for once, she doesn’t push.

The third time she asks, they’re basking in the euphoria of the renewal of the treaty Kid brokered with the witches, tangled up in the sheets of the bed that has recently stopped being his and started being theirs.

He’s quiet for a long time and when he speaks, he simply asks, “Why?”

Maka props herself up on her elbows and looks him in the eyes.  “Because you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

It’s hard to refuse an answer like that.

Soul remembers all of this as he knocks on the door of some run-down hotel in Europe.  

He’s never met the woman who answers but he recognizes her by the determined way she carries herself and the vibrant green of her eyes.  “Yes?”

“My name is Soul.”  He takes a deep breath. “I was your daughter’s weapon.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon prompt fill for snowed in.

“Storm still sounds pretty bad.”

“Hm.”

“We might not be able to leave.”

“Hmm.”  Maka watched as the number on the hotel elevator ticked down to one, hand wrapped around the handle of her baggage in an iron grip.  She stepped out as soon the doors opened with a soft ping and straight into the back of an indignant stranger.

Soul caught her as she stumbled back.  “Careful.”

“I know.”  Maka pulled away, scrutinizing the crowded lobby.  With practiced ease, she wended her way through the crowd using elbows and smiles, Soul fighting to keep pace with her.  

In front of the crowd stood the hotel manager, who was sweating profusely. “The roads are frozen solid, folks,” he was saying, holding out his arms pleadingly.  “They won’t be clear till at least tomorrow morning.”

Low grumbles rippled throughout the crowd but the vicious howling of the wind silenced any real protest.

“What do you want to do?”

She jumped at the sound of Soul’s voice so close to her ear.  She locked eyes with him for a second before heading back for the elevator.  “I’m taking a nap.”

* * *

Maka woke up to the smell of greasy food.  She pushed herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes.

Soul laid on the bed next to her, channel surfing lazily. “Room service came an hour ago.”

“I’m not hungry.”  Maka stood, not meeting his eyes.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

He caught her hand.  “Wait.”

She stiffened at his touch but didn’t pull away.  Fixing her gaze on a point just above his head, she asked irritably, “What, Soul?”

Maka felt him sit up.  “I think we should talk about it.”

“You said enough last night.”

“I didn’t me-”

“How could you mean it any other way?”  Maka snatched her hand away.  “You don’t say oops after you kiss someone,” she fumed.  “Not someone you like.”

“But I do like you.”

For the first time since last night, Maka looked at Soul.  His face was as red as his eyes and his entire body was taut with an uncomfortable tension but the sincerity in his voice was eager and persuasive.

She hesitated.  “But why?”

Soul ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly, glancing away.  “I had a plan.  I wanted to ask you out, take you somewhere special and then tell you.”  He peered back at her.  “But then you kissed me and I panicked.  So oops.”  

“So oops,” Maka repeated, staring at Soul.  

Without breaking her gaze with him, she bent forward and pressed her lips against his.  Unlike last night, his lips moved with hers, kiss slowly deepening.

She reached for his hand when they pulled away, a smile on her face.  “Oops.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “i’m the grader for this class and you have literally the worst handwriting i have ever seen. i am tracking you down to warn you that if you turn in another pset like this i will have to give you a zero because i cannot understand anything you have written’ AU.

Soup.

Maka squinted harder at the heading, neck aching from being hunched over for past three hours grading essays.  She rubbed her eyes and tried again.

Soul.

She pursed her lips.  That hardly seemed better but it made a hell of a lot more sense than someone being named Soup.  Her eyes ran down the page and she let out a small groan at the jumbled mess of words, almost wishing she had taken the dish washer job at the mess halls when she signed up for work study.  

She took a swig of her tea and uncapped her pen, consoling herself with the thought that her eyes would probably adjust by the time she got through the first page.

Nearly an hour later, she was only halfway through the introduction.

* * *

Maka leaned against the chalkboard as the students exited the lecture hall, essay in hand.

“Uh, you’re the grader, right?”

Crossing her arms, Maka eyed the person who had derailed her Friday.  To her surprise, she recognized him immediately-his white hair and red eyes (which looked a lot more real up close) having stood out to her the very first day of class.

She cleared her throat.  ”Soul, correct?”

“That’s what I wrote on the paper.”

She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice.  ”I thought it was soup at first actually.”

He scoffed.  ”Who would name their kid soup?”

“Who would name their son Soul?”

“It’s a family name.”

“Really?”  She stared at him for a moment before moving on, gesturing at him with his essay.  "Anyways, the reason I didn’t give you back your essay with the others is because of your handwriting.“

Soul frowned.  ”What about it?”

"It is literally a nightmare in ink.”  Maka gave him the essay.  "I spent over two hours deciphering that.“

"It’s not-” He took the essay, trailing off as he scanned it. “…that bad.”

Maka snorted.  ”I did enjoy what you had to say once I finally got through it,” she said.  ”Though I could probably sue you for the headache it gave me.”

He looked up, flashing a grin at her.  ”And what would you sue for?”

She considered him for a moment.  ”Lunch.”

His smile widened.  ”Consider it done.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-manga drabble.

Hardly any of the new EAT students pay attention when Sid points a side room in the infirmary simply labeled “De-stress.”  They talk over him in loud whispers when he announces that the room is always open when “things become too much.”

They’re too wrapped up in the excitement of moving to a place like Death City, of the anticipation of who will be the first team in their class to become a Death Scythe, of the eagerness to start making a name for themselves like the older weapons and meisters.

They forget they are only children.

For the first few months of the school year, there are no visitors to the room. Students are too busy training for their first missions, running through mock battles with fake pre-kishins and being drilled to the ground by teachers to do anything else in their spare time but eat and sleep.

There is a shift when missions open up for the first time, an anxious edge to the giddiness that has permeated the air since class started. It’s tramped on when the first few teams come in, bloodied and dirty but wearing smiles that proclaim they are as invincible as they think they are.

It’s shattered a few weeks later when a weapon returns meisterless.  For the first time, the de-stress room is popular.  But it returns to being as empty as ever when the shock passes and the empty seat on the right side of the classroom becomes a normal sight, rather than an unsettling reminder that a student once sat there.

Out of the future Spartoi members, Maka is the first to make use of the room. After collecting ninety nine pre-kishin souls and one magical cat soul, she was fairly certain there was nothing she couldn’t handle.

Italy makes her eat her words a few weeks later.  

The longer she looks at Soul lying on the infirmary’s bed, the more the guilt pulses under her skin like a heartbeat until she feels ready to explode.  She bursts out of the room and into the de-stress room purely by chance, the sound of Ragnarok’s blade cutting into Soul’s chest the only thing she can hear.

The de-stress room is sparse, a bed resting beside one of the light blue walls, throw pillows strewn all over the floor and a coffee table stocked with ragged board games in the middle.  Maka sits with her knees curled up against her chest on the bed until she can breathe again.

Tsubaki drifts in next. Even though she was trained to be a warrior, she had never been trained to be her brother’s killer.  It was something that she was reminded of every time Black*Star tried to use her new ability.  She reflects in the de-stress room, listens to the beast inside her and forgives herself over and over.  

After Spartoi forms, at least half the team meets in there weekly, never on purpose.  Sometimes they sit together and talk about nothing important but most days, the only sound that can be heard is Patti furiously scribbling on her walls with her new markers.  

By way of silent agreement, they never mention the reasons they’re there in the first place.  Being in the room is vulnerability enough.

The final holdout of their group, Kid, makes his first and last appearance in the room the day before he becomes Lord Death.  For the first time since they began using the room, all of Spartoi is there, lying on the floor in a group nap.  

He enters quietly, the soft click of the doorknob jolting the group from their nap as violently as a kishin attacking.  Kid stands in the doorway, wearing a lost expression that hadn’t crossed his face since he received the news about his father’s death.

“I’m afraid.”  His lips barely move.

As usual, Black*Star is the first to respond.  He throws his head back and laughs.  “We all are.”

No one can quite look at each other after his laughter dies away, not quite ready to admit that this place was never a refuge.

Now, they remember they were only children.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-manga drabble.

Her phone buzzes, shaking Maka out of the half-stupor she’s fallen in.  Yawning, she blinks in surprise at the sudden darkness in her room and glances at her clock, finding her five-minute nap has turned into a four hour one. 

The bed creaks as she stretches, chasing the stiffness in her limbs.  From where it’s gotten lost among the sheets, her phone vibrates again and she shakes out her sheets, swearing softly when she hears the phone clatter onto the floor.  Gritting her teeth, she flops on her belly and dangles halfway off the bed, grabbing the runaway phone.  Sitting up, she squints blearily at the name lighting up the screen.

S: hay beautiful

S: hey*

S: did u know witches throw the best parties

She can practically feel the drunkenness radiating off of him.  Her lips twitch as her fingers tap against the phone screen.

M: Sounds like the witches’ conference is going well

S: Mhmmmmm

M: Though I thought you were supposed to be talking with Mabaa

S: she had to go to bed

S: cuz you know

S: shes old as balls

Maka chokes, laughter morphing into a loud snort.  She settles back comfortably on her bed, grinning at the thought of showing (more like tormenting) Soul about this conversation in the morning. 

M: So you decided to go party?

S: im in my hotel room so techinically i didnt go anywhere

S: plus you cant turn down a witchs invite

M: Oh, really?

S: Mhm

S: least that’s what bossman said

S: *bosskid 

M: And where is Kid now?

S: talkinnnnnnnnn

S: the witches are trying to get him drunk i think

S: but its a no go

M: It appears they succeeded with you

S: ive only had one cup

S: it did get refilled a lot tho

M: I think it’s time to go to bed.

S: will u be there

M: Very funny.

S: if i was trying to be funny i would have said knock knock

M: Seriously, go change into your pajamas or whatever and go to bed

S: u stole all of them

She refuses to look down at herself right now.

M: That is not true.

S: i saw my boxers sticking out of your drawers

S: the wood ones not the other ones

S: admit ittttttttttttt

Her face is glowing but she’ll die first before confessing anything to Soul.

M: Shut up.

S: i bet your wearing them right now

For being drunk and out of the state, he is way too perceptive.

M: Hush.

S: for a bookworm u dont have good comebacks

S: gotta say u probs look better in them than me

S: but u kno wat

M: What

S: u would look better out of them

She stares at the screen, unsure if she wants the phone or herself to combust.  Just as she’s collecting herself, the phone buzzes again.

S: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

She waits five minutes for Soul to elaborate before replying.

M: um hello?

K: Hello Maka, this is Kid.  It appears Soul just fell unconscious so he can’t come to the phone right now, I’m afraid.

She sighs, not certain if it’s out of relief or disappointment. 

M: Hi, Kid.  It’s no problem-could you just make sure he gets to bed?

K: Of course.  Also, he’s mumbling something about drawers.  Does that mean anything to you?

M: Nothing at all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for: zucchini

The fan whirs, sputtering every now and then as it cycles the stuffy air in Maka’s room.

Stretched out on her bed, Maka rolls the week-old zucchini between her fingers.  It has to going bad by now but it was the only thing in the refrigerator besides a half empty bottle of ketchup and she was hungry. 

Tentatively, she takes a bite and is pleasantly surprised to find that the zucchini still has its mild and bland flavor.  She flips onto her back and takes another bite, studying the cracks in her ceiling.

She raises her hand in the air lazily.  Right now she should be doing her homework or reading but today had been filled with the kind of heat that pressed at her bones, draining away any motivation to do anything productive.

Dropping her hand, Maka closes her eyes and lets her mind drift, occasionally taking another bite of the zucchini.  

When the phone rings, she’s lulled herself into a half slumber.  She lets it ring, deciding to let the answering machine do its job.  However, whoever is on the other end doesn’t leave a message, just a quick click of a phone hanging up.  Maka curls on her side, squeezing her eyes shut again.

She hears the front door open with a creak.  “It’s me!” Spirit’s voice announces.

“Who else would it be?” Maka mutters under her breath.

Then the phone rings again, shrill and insistent.

“I’ve got it,” he calls.

Maka doesn’t answer, listening as she hears Spirit answer the phone and then go silent.  

When the silence stretches out for too long, Maka sits up.  Just as she pads over to her door, she hears her father say in a strange voice, “Hi, honey.”

Maka’s heart stutters once and then she yanks the door open, flying down the short hallway.  

Her father stands in the middle of the living room, phone still cradled by his ear.

“Is it Mom?” she demands.

He looks at her blankly and then pulls the phone from his ear.  ”She hung up.”

Maka feels the hope that had welled up in her chest pierce her heart.  She nods, looking anywhere but at Spirit.  ”Okay.”  She backs out of the room slowly in a house that suddenly feels too big.  ”Fine.”

She backpedals to the front door, ignoring her father calling her back.  Prying the door open, she manages an “I’ll be back soon” and then she lets her emotions take over, running until she’s doubled over, breathing hard.

Looking up, she sees that her feet have taken her to the park her parents used to take when she was a kid.  Dusk has fallen by now so the tiny playground stuffed in one of the corners of the park is empty.

The slide that she used to go on with Spirit when she was little stands there invitingly.  It only takes another moment of looking at it before Maka gives in.  

It isn’t nearly as tall as she remembers it, she muses as she climbs up the ladder.  When she reaches the top, however, she doesn’t slide down but instead sits there, hooking her hands around her knees.

She sits there until the sun has completely disappeared.  

“You’re holding up the line, you know.”

Maka jumps at the voice below her, sucking in a sharp breath.  She scowls down at the white-haired boy looking at her.  ”You almost made me fall, Soul.”

He grins up at her.  “Almost being the operative word here.”

She resists the urge to stick her tongue out.  ”Very funny.”

“I try.  You going or not?”

“Well, I was,” she answers.  "But now I don’t think I am.“

"Guess I’ll have to go around you then,” he says as he starts to climb up the ladder, the slide groaning ominously.

“I don’t think this slide was meant to hold two teenagers at the same time,” Maka says nervously, eyeing the protesting slide underneath her.

Soul reaches the top.  ”Should have gone when you had the chance then.”  A perplexed expression replaces the amused one.  ”Uh, why are you holding a zucchini?”

Maka looks down at her hand, surprised to find her fingers still wrapped around the half-eaten zucchini.  It prods open recent memories and words tumble impulsively out of her mouth.  “I’m tired of feeling alone.”

Soul is quiet.  She feels a blush travel up her neck and to her face.  Just as she’s about to propose that they forget she ever said anything, he speaks.

“Well I guess it’s a good thing I came along,” he says.  "Zucchinis make horrible companions.“

It’s Maka’s turn to be quiet.  Her voice isn’t nearly as steady as she would like it to be when she speaks.  ”No, they certainly don’t make the best ones.”  She holds out a hand.  ”Ready to go?”

They slide down together.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon prompt fill for: "I'll protect you with my life."

She didn’t think he actually meant it.  For one, they were both thirteen and no thirteen year old boy said that.  Not sincerely at least.

And for another thing, Soul hadn’t even been conscious when he’d said it.  

No, he had been sound asleep.

She’d been rudely awakened in the middle of the night by a throat drier than the desert they lived in.  Blearily, she’d sat up, kicked her blankets to the side and managed to stuff her feet in her slippers on the third try before trudging out of her room and promptly stepping on the gift Blair had left for her.

By the time Maka had shuffled out into the hallway, enough of her higher brain function had returned to remember there was another person snoring away in the apartment and perhaps she could keep her grumbles about Blair leaving dead mice at her door to a minimum.  She had picked up the offending carcass in question with a wrinkle of her nose and padded down the hallway when a loud creak stopped in her tracks.

A swear had stuck in her throat as she cringed, having completely forgotten the loose board outside Soul’s room (whose door was completely open, as luck would have it.)  After waiting a moment and hearing his snores continue uninterrupted, she’d dared a peek inside and found Soul lying sprawled across his bed with his arms and legs spread wide to make his body a big X, a cacophony of strangled snores issuing from his mouth.

She’d smiled, relieved that Soul slept like the dead and waited another moment before taking another cautious step forward.

“Maka.”

She had stiffened, foot stuck in mid-air and a sheepish apology primed on her lips.  But when she had looked back over her shoulder, Soul was still lying in the same position.  There had been a pause and then he rolled over on his stomach, words slurred but intelligible as he mumbled into his pillow, "I’ll protect you with my life.“

Her heart had climbed somewhere in her throat, mind wiped completely blank.  But when coherent thought had returned to her, she reasoned it away-people said strange things in their sleep.

With that, she had made her way to the kitchen, disposed of the mouse and got her glass of water, meaning to tease Soul about it in the morning.  But he woke up late and with a million things pulling at her attention in their rush to school, she forgot about it entirely.

A few weeks later, they went to Italy.  She remembered then.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-manga prompt fill for: "Can I kiss you?"

He likes it when he wakes up before her.

Not that it happens often because Maka’s alarm is set for the crack of dawn, a time that Soul likes to honor with his eyes firmly closed.

But on the weekends, the only time they can even hope to sleep in, there are the rare occasions that Soul wakes up and Maka is still snoring away (though Maka resolutely maintains that the only snorer in their relationship is him.)

Some days he’s awake because of an accidental elbow thrust in just the wrong place.  Other days it’s the sun viciously poking against his eyelids because Maka likes to keep the blinds open at night.  The better to see the stars, she explained once.

Today, Soul’s not quite sure what woke him up.  The sky is still mostly that strange clear color when it’s not quite night but not exactly day either.  He watches the horizon as the sun’s rays begins to dye the sky with pink and orange.

He glances at Maka.  She’s turned towards him, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest in time with his heartbeat.  She has the most serene expression when she sleeps, mouth slightly ajar as she breathes in and out.  Her hair, which catches the light of the rising sun, tumbles down her shoulders and down her face.

A lock falls in front of her open lips, threatening to be sucked in.  He smiles, brushing the hair from her face.  Maka’s skin is like the books she adores, the raised ink of just visible scars telling the stories of battles come and gone.  His hand trails down her cheek and to her neck, where he rubs soft circles. 

At this, her eyes open, hazy but contented.  An amused smile crosses her face.  "What are you doing?“

He means to tell her she looks beautiful but instead he says, "Can I kiss you?”

A blush tinges her face and she covers the hand stroking her collarbone with hers.  "Well since you asked so nicely.“  She leans forward and presses her lips to his.  

Soul loves the mornings he wakes up before Maka.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-manga prompt fill for: "Can you walk?"

Soul cringes at Maka’s sharp hiss through gritted teeth, as he pulls the knot around her bandaged ankle tight.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” The words trip out of his mouth.  They feel empty though and he attempts to brush all the dirt from her face and coat to make up for what they can’t convey.

Her dirtied gloves, balled into fists, relax slowly.  She takes deep breaths and opens her eyes.  "It’s okay, I think the pain has passed.“

He frowns.  "That’s the worst fall you’ve taken in a while.”

Maka rolls her eyes and pushes his hands from her face.  "You’re being overdramatic.“

"And you’re being stubborn,” he counters.  

She scowls at him.  "Just help me up.“

He straightens, looking at her doubtfully.  "Can you walk?”

“We won’t find out if you leave me sitting here on the ground, now will we?” she snaps.  Then she deflates and reaches out for him.  "Help me.“

"As you wish.”  Soul rolls his eyes to veil his concern but he cradles her waist gently as he helps her rise.

Maka, despite her insistence, balances only on her good foot while her bandaged foot hovers just above the ground.

“Change your mind?” he asks wryly.

“Shut up,” she answers, glaring at him.

He sighs and turns slightly, not letting go of her.  "Hop on.“

"What?”

“It’s clear you’re not fit to walk.  And I didn’t even get hurt during the fall.”

There’s a terse pause and Soul waits for her protest.  Instead, he feels Maka awkwardly scrambling onto his back on one foot.  He smiles as he helps her by hooking his hands behind her knees, propping her higher.

She locks her arms securely around his neck.  

“Ready?” he asks.

Maka rests her head on his shoulder, her cheek rubbing against his. “Ready.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-manga drabble highly inspired by White Blank Page by Mumford and Sons.

As soon as Maka had opened those doors, Soul should have dragged her back.  He should have hauled them both to safety, on his bike and far away from that church.  He should have acted instead of doing nothing.

But she was his meister and something more.  So it had never been a choice.  He would follow her wherever she went.

When he had first laid his eyes on Crona, he should have said something.  He should have warned Maka about the unsteadiness of Crona’s eyes, insisted that they retreat, that this was too much for either of them to handle.

But she was the one with the soul perception and more than that, he trusted her with his life.  So it had never been a choice.  When she told him to transform, he did.

Now they were here, blocking blow after blow from the screeching demon sword.  And all he was telling himself were all the things he should have done to protect his meister.  It was his duty after all.  So when the time came to decide between his life and hers, it had never been a choice.

He tries to tell her all this when he wakes up but between the morphine and the haze of the nightmare that refuses to fade away, he can’t cut off her apologies or her tears.  So he lets her speak and when she’s done, he holds her hand.

A week later, he sees his scar for the first time when she goes out to get him a fresh change of clothes, unable to contain his curiosity.  It grins at him with twisted teeth, black thread holding himself together.

His chest had been a white blank page.  And now it was permanently inked with rage and madness.  Loyalty and love.

He didn’t regret it.  He would follow her wherever she went.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-manga prompt fill for: betrayal.

_Soul stares at the piano, winking invitingly at him in the Black Room’s spotlight.  The tingling in his fingers spill out into his hands and they twitch with a longing to rend the world in two with his song._

_He’s being irrational and he knows it.  But he can feel the clanks and clashes of the battle out there vibrating up and down his body as Maka does her damnedest to beat this witch.  And he knows unless he steps it up, he and his meister are going to be going the way of the dodo pretty soon._

_But his control is snapping and all he can hear, in his old instructor’s voice, in his parents’ hushed voices, in **his** voice, “Not good enough.”_

_The black blood wraps around Soul so quickly he doesn’t even have a chance to fight back.  (After all it’s hard to spot the darkness coming for you when you’re surrounded by your own.)_

_The blood makes a puppet out of him, guiding him to the piano, sitting him down and forcing his hands on the keyboard.  But it does not force him to play and the burning feeling in his fingers intensifies._

_Mouth stretched in a wide grin, Oni materializes on top of the piano._

_“Play for me, Soul.  Play and I’ll conduct.”_

_His breath comes out in a shudder.  It’s not even a want at this point, it’s a need.  His hands run up and down the piano with the fury of a desert thunderstorm yet his fingers are as light as a lover on the keys._

_A smile rips across his mouth, jagged teeth gritting tight against each other like the blade of guillotine.  The song he plays is twisted, whispers of laughter that’s just a tad too loud echoing after them._

_The room around him is a blaze of smoke and fire and beneath him the piano trembles under the weight of his soul.  It’s a dizzying feeling of pain and ecstasy and he’s not sure which one he craves more._

_Either way, it doesn’t matter; he’ll play for eternity._

_He’s a prisoner to himself._

* * *

The aura of madness roils off Soul in nearly tangible waves, filling Maka’s mouth with a slimy, rotten taste.

She chokes as she dodges another attack from the witch they’re battling, diving behind the wreckage of what used to be an inn.  Clearing her throat, she glares at her weapon, giving the scythe a little shake.

“Soul?  You okay?”

There’s no response.

She gives the scythe another shake.  "Soul!“

A laugh, his laugh except it’s much more rough and twisted, floats out of the scythe.  "You rang?”

“Keep it together, Soul,” she says sternly.

Soul laughs again but it sounds more like scream now.  "Takes two to be together, am I right, Maka?“

Maka scowls and dares to take a peek out from her cover, relieved when she spies the witch heading in the other direction.  She turns back to the scythe, tightening her grip around the handle.

"If I have to come in there to snap you out of it, Soul, you’re going to be in a world of pain,” Maka says threateningly.  

Soul’s face appears in the blade, wide grin splayed across his face.  "Didn’t know you were that kinky, Maka.“

"This isn’t a game, Soul!”  She attempts to reach out through their connection but the madness that she felt earlier clamps around her soul, razor sharp fingers digging in.

She rips herself away from Soul, both mentally and physically, releasing the scythe with a clatter and stumbling back a few steps.

Oni’s face appears beside Soul’s in the blade.  "You’re right, Maka, this isn’t a game.“

"You!” Maka growls.  She crouches, half of her senses focused on detecting the witch while the other half attempts to annihilate Oni with sheer anger.  "What did you do?“

"Soul wasn’t quite living up to his potential, now were you, Soul?” Oni croons mockingly.  He gives Maka a delighted look.  "But now that he has a new conductor, he’s gotten quite good.“

There’s a flash and Soul stands in place of the scythe.  

Maka rises as well, shocked to see Soul cloaked in black blood.  And not only that, she notes with growing unease, but it’s woven in his skin. Veins of blood line his body, cutting him into pieces like a jigsaw puzzle.

She takes one cautious step towards him.  "Soul?”

He gives her a grin but it’s not like the one she knows and loves.  "You’d better put those pretty legs to the test, Maka.“

* * *

_The melody he plays is not his own but it’s intoxicating.  It makes him feel alive.  All he has to do is follow along._

_Soul smiles softly, closing his eyes.  The unbearable weight of being has lifted and he is free._

_“You’d better put those pretty legs to the test, Maka.”_

He cackles wildly as he lunges at Maka, a flash of white light nearly blinding her as she sprang back.

She lands heavily on her feet, stumbling over the rubble of the demolished village.  Her knees buckle, shock and disbelief stripping down from a fierce warrior into someone small and vulnerable.

Because this could not be happening, the complete dismembering of her most important relationship.  Her partner is not swinging his arm at her, transformed into the blade she had wielded hundreds of times before, he can’t be trying to kill her. 

She backs up rapidly, yelping as she trips over a wooden beam.  His blade whistles above her head, her fall inadvertently saving her from being sliced in half.

The glint of metal in the moonlight catches her eye and she barely manages to roll to one side and avoid another would-be fatal blow.  Tasting blood in her mouth, she kicks out a leg and hears an “umph” as Soul goes down with a heavy thud.

Maka seizes her chance and  leaps up to pin him down with her knees; his eyes are closed and his breathing is ragged.  She reaches deep in their link and searches for the familiar pulse of his wavelength but she can’t feel Soul at all, just a jumbled melody whispering madness that tugs at the frayed edges of her mind.

But she refuses to give up and keeps pushing, fighting to stay afloat in the sea of Black Blood flooding into their link.  “Wake up, Soul!  Look at me!”

A hand clamped tight on her shoulder pulls her back to reality and she feels hot, rancid breath on her ear.  “Found you, my pretty.”

“Shit,” she whispers.  She tears herself away, grabbing a broken piece of a wooden beam.  Wielding the beam, she keeps herself between Soul and the witch.  “Stay away.”

“Hey.”

Soul’s voice makes her breath catch and Maka’s eyes snap to his face.  For a moment, his eyes are the familiar red she knew, pleading and scared.  And then he blinks and the red is swallowed up by the darkness slowly consuming his body.

She backs up as he staggers to his feet and looks between Soul and the witch.   _What do I do, what do I do?_

Soul waves his blade arm at the witch.  “Out of the way, Granny.  Blondie’s mine.”

“Granny?” the witch shrieks, electric fire lighting up in her hands.  “I’ll show you Granny!”  With a cry, she releases a beam of energy.

The blast hits Soul head-on but when the light from the energy fades away, he’s still standing there, not even a mark on him.  He spits out a gob of black blood and laughs.  “My turn.”

It’s over before the witch has time to widen her eyes, a stab to the heart and a ear-splitting crack as his blade pokes through her back.

Soul wipes the blood and he gives Maka a grin. 

There isn’t a cell in her body that isn’t screaming at her to run but something stronger than her fear rises up and she grinds her boots into the dirt, heart thudding in her chest as if protesting its doom.

He would have run her right through if he didn’t halt suddenly, the scythe blade a hair’s breadth from her face.  “So brave,” he says mockingly in a voice that is simultaneously his and not.

She gazes at him at him steadily; the black lines running down his body have turned him into a fractured mirror of himself.  “So are you.”

“And why do you say that?”

But underneath everything, he’s still there.  “It’s because I know you.”

The black sheen that has darkened his eyes to a murky brown seem to waver.  She pushes her face all the way up to his, the little space separating them hot with their breath.  “It’s because I know you’re in there.”

_His_ voice bleeds through. “I could hurt you.”

 “Yes,” she breathes, dropping her guard completely and leaving her soul open for him to spare or devour.  “But I know you won’t hurt me.”

His red eyes turn glassy.  “How?”

And the tendrils of  _his_  soul come to meet hers and the black lines decorating his body begin to recede.  “You should be afraid of me.”

“You’re my partner,” she says simply.

She presses a hand against his chest, right above his frantically racing heart.   “I trust you with my life.”

Soul collapses against her and buries his face in her neck, shaking uncontrollably.  “Sorrysorrysorry _sorry_.”

“It’s because you’re my Soul.”  Maka wraps her arms around him, tears rolling down her face.  “And that’s enough.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short cracky drabble that came out of the discussion of what would happen if weapons had magical girl-like transformations. I really don't know what else to say other than I hope you think it's funny. Happy reading!

 

"So why are we doing this again?" Soul grouches, rubbing one eye tiredly as the sun rises behind him.

"I told you, remember?" Maka reminds him, squinting rather than looking at him because the reflected light off his white hair is practically blinding. (When she had questioned it during their first meeting yesterday, he maintained that it was natural but it wasn't until he had deadpanned that he could offer "empirical evidence" that it was natural that she had hastily dropped the subject.)

He shrugs. "You've told me a lot of things."

Maka's fingers twitch but her tone is patient. "The DWMA doesn't recognize us as official partners unless we succeed at this starter mission. Someone will be watching to see how we do."

He frowns. "That's a little dangerous, isn't it?"

"It would be," she sighs, coming to a stop, "If we were battling a bigger version of that." She points ahead of them, toward one of Death City's bridges.  Under one of the bridge wanders a troll, an ugly mustard yellow and about a head shorter than the two of them.

"Oh," Soul says, bemusement creasing his brow. He pauses. "Do we really have to do this? It looks cu-I mean, harmless."

Maka looks at him in amused disbelief. "You were about to call it cute, weren't you?"

His expression doesn't change but Soul reddens a little. "No, of course not. It's just that it seems kinda mean to attack first."

She sighs, reminding herself that Soul was still a newcomer to Death City. "Look, if we don't take care of it now, then it's going to be a problem later and it'll hurt, even kill, innocent people."

Soul doesn't look completely convinced but he nods. "If you say so."

"I do." She holds out her hand. "Come on then, I thought you said you were the coolest weapon ever. Transform."

Soul blanches visibly but he gives her a half-smirk and complies.

Maka's vision explodes into one of stars and rainbows.

Instead of a regular flash of white light (like her father's transformation), Soul shifts to his scythe form in a dazzling array of color accompanied by sparkles much brighter than Maka's ever seen before.  She looks away, feeling her lungs constrict as she chokes down a sob of laughter but then she makes the mistake of looking over at Soul again.

His eyes are halfway closed and his nose is in the air, arms crossed in a "couldn't care less" attitude. But he's watching her out of the corner of his eye and at her face, the self-satisfied smirk he was wearing quickly replaced by a little pout.

She catches Soul purely out of instinct because the tears streaming from her eyes because of how hard she's laughing prevents her from seeing virtually anything.  She doubles over, using Soul to keep herself from rolling on the ground.  "A rainbow," she wheezes. "You're a rainbow."

Soul's voice floats out, tinny and highly unamused. "Yeah, yeah, laugh your head off, fat ankles."

Even Soul's insult can't stem her laughter. Eventually, her laughs trickle to a stop and she straightens.  "I'm sorry," she hiccups, wiping her eyes.  "I'm serious now, I promise."

"Yeah, you better be," he grumbles, his face appears in the scythe's blade. His white hair seems to be sticking up everywhere more so than usual, his pout from earlier still etched on his face.

Maka stares at him for a moment and then she bursts out, "You're a magical girl!"  She dissolves into giggles and can't keep her hold on Soul, letting him fall to the ground with a clang as she falls to her knees and rolls with mirth.

By now, their prey has ran away, be it from Maka's screeches or the ungodly amount of light Soul let off when he transformed.

Soul's miffed voice reaches her somehow. "You wait, I'll get you back for this."

"Yeah, with what?" she asks in a strangled voice. "With your supersonic piano wave combination?"

"Like that'd ever happen!"

* * *

Soul is never quite able to live down how his "supersonic piano wave combination" beat Arachne.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-canon one-shot I wrote when I was playing around with the idea of Maka taking Ragnorak's hit instead of Soul.

The heart monitor's soft but constant beeping seems to ridicule Soul as he stares at the linoleum floor of the DWMA's hospital wing. _"You…failed…you…failed…,"_ it taps out, according to the rhythm of Maka's heartbeat.

_It should have been you,_ he rails at himself, lifting his eyes to look at her face. Her expression is deceptively peaceful, a result of all the painkillers being pumped into her body. If it wasn't for the bandages wrapped around her chest, binding the wound Ragnorak gave her shut, it would seem that she was sleeping. His hand, which is wrapped around Maka's, tightens as he remembers how that wound gushed with blood.

He didn't know that someone as tiny as Maka could bleed so much.

His nails dig in his skin as he watches Maka's face change from tranquil to terrified-he knows what's coming. And sure enough, less than a minute later, Maka's yells claw at his eardrums, worse than any nightmare he's ever had.

Soul calls out her name over and over, rubbing her hand comfortingly. "Maka, wake up!"

He wills her eyes to open to reality or for her to fall back into her dream but most of all, he wishes it was him lying in that hospital bed. But instead, he's stuck watching helplessly as she continues to thrash in her bed, still caught in whatever hell the black blood cursed her with. Panic seeps into his voice. "Maka, please open your eyes!"

Her eyes finally snap open, gaze roaming wildly before finding him. She tries to sit up but collapses, the wound splitting across her chest refuses to let her lift herself up even an inch. She cranes her head instead and speaks between gasps, sweat dripping down the sides of her face. "I…I'm…all right…" She looks back at him. "Are you?"

Soul forces himself to nod, the concern on her face burning him like a thousand little paper cuts. "Of course, I'm okay. You had me worried, that's all."

She gives him a small smile. "Only a little nightmare."

Soul stands as he adjusts the covers around her, careful not to put any weight on her chest. "Didn't seem so little to me."

Her voice comes out slightly slurred, pain medication already taking her someplace far away from here. "It was you who got cut in my dream."

He tries to ignore the painful twinge in his heart as he sits back down, holding her hand again. "It should have been me. You shouldn't have thrown me out of the way."

Maka lets out a guilty giggle. "I had to protect you, didn't I? You would have guarded me with your body if I hadn't."

He can't answer with her eyes on him so he looks away and hides the agony written all over his face. She doesn't sound resentful at all, more like she would do it again if given the chance. And that's what makes the guilt hurt the worst.

"Soul?"

He looks at her. Maka's eyes are closed but her mouth is moving, barely audible over the heart monitor.

"Don't leave, okay?"

He begins to nod but then he catches himself. "Y-yes."

She falls asleep with a ghost of a smile. "Good."

Soul holds her hand till the sun comes up and she wakes up, repeating the same words over and over again. _"I'm sorry, it should have been me."_

 

 


	23. Polarize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the prompt: Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it.” Canonverse. I highly suggest listening to Polarize by Twenty One Pilots while reading this.

He’s talking to a boy with hair almost too electric blue to stare directly at when a girl launches herself at him, nearly impaling herself on his transformed arm.  He only just manages to fling his arm upward and away from her face, catching her with his normal arm.  “Have you lost your mind?”

The girl doesn’t seem to be listening, however, brushing her bangs out of her face and looking up with him with wide eyes.  His heart finds a new home in the pit of his stomach as the thought he might have been recognized occurs to him.

Then, she says breathlessly, “You.  Are.  A . Scythe.”

Relief tamps down his automatic reflex to backpedal out of any and every social interaction he hasn’t mentally prepared himself for.  He chooses to arch an eyebrow and reply with a slow drawl, “Yes, I am.”

Excitement roils off her in waves and her hands, still wrapped around his arm, squeeze his wrist with a strength he wouldn’t have expected from her tiny frame.  “I’m a scythe meister!”

“Aren’t you two just made for each other,” the blue-haired boy chimes in.

The girl fixes him with a well-practiced scowl.  “Shut up, Black Star.”

His retort is cut off by a distant screech.  “Makaaaaaaa!”

“Ugh.”  Her hands squeeze his again and her face looks like she just bit into a lemon.  “Papa.”  She tugs on his sleeve.  “Let’s go.”

His mask slips slightly.  “What?”

She rolls her eyes but her face tinges pink.  “Papa is embarrassing,” she mumbles.  “He’ll be worse when he sees you.”

He splits his mouth in a grin.  “Overprotective dad, huh?”

Her cheeks pinken further.  “Shush.”  She pulls him again.  “Are you coming or not?”

He considers.  The girl didn’t seem alarmed at all by his appearance and for that she deserves a chance at least.

“To hell with it, let’s go.”  The words taste a little reckless on his tongue but the knot that’s been residing in his chest since he left home loosens a bit.  “I know a place.”

Her smile returns and she begins to all but drag him across the room.  “Lead the way.”

* * *

_The sun pricks at Soul’s eyelids like needles and he fights against the urge to pull the covers over his head, waiting until tears itch at the corners of his eyes to push himself up.  He rubs at his face, fingernails chafing at his skin._

_Sitting there, he stares blearily at the window and doesn’t move until the sun has risen completely.  Then, rising silently as possible, he pads over to his drawer, rooting through it until he finds the faded orange shirt, words barely discernible even in the light._

_Peeling off his sleep shirt, he pulls the shirt on and puts on the first pair of pants he grabs, running a hand through his hair and shoving his feet into his shoes.  He’s almost at the door when Blair’s voice sounds from the kitchen.  “Going out?”_

_He winces.  He hadn’t wanted to wake anyone. Without turning, he answers, “Yeah.”_

_Blair’s stare burns into the back of his neck.  Then, cheerfully, she says, “Make sure to be back for breakfast!”_

_His hand wraps around the doorknob.  “I will.”_

* * *

He’s still unused to the streets of Death City and it’s only his third try that he finds the coffee shop he’d stowed away in yesterday.  He pokes his head in, musing, “I’m pretty sure it was here.”

Spotting the old piano in the corner, he brightens and this time, he’s the one to grab her hand excitedly.  “Here.”

He realizes his mistake midway through the shop and drops his hand as they reach the piano, cramming his hands in his jacket pockets.  His words, which he’s been mulling over in his head, come out slightly flustered.  “I’m gonna play this piano,” he mutters, “Consider it an introduction.”

A flicker of a teasing smile crosses her face but the look in her eyes is honest.  “Go on then.”

He sits and stretches his fingers, running through his last recital’s song.  But his fingers freeze just above the keys and he hesitates.

Then, swallowing hard, he slams his fingers down on the piano and just plays.

When he looks up, she’s still there.

* * *

_The grounds keeper hasn’t opened the gates when he arrives but it’s not to break open the lock with a flash of his arm._

_Dying mist clings to him as he tramps through the grass, his breaths coming out in time with his heartbeat.  A shrill ring breaks the fragile silence._

_He pulls his phone from his pocket, spies his brother’s name and promptly shuts off the phone.  His brother’s persistence in calling every week for six months is impressive but he predicts that, in a few months, even that will stop._

_He hopes._

_As he plants himself in his usual spot, a familiar voice that rings too much of her whispers that giving a proper good bye is the very least he owes his brother but saying good bye is often a promise to meet again and he is done with promises._

_Besides, saying good bye has never been something he’s learned.  It’s always lot quicker and less messier to say nothing and let the walls he’s built say his farewells for him.  It’s how he left home and if he ever thought about rectifying his mistake, recent events have changed his mind permanently._

_But mostly, he has never learned to say good bye because he’s never said it._

_The stone in the grass gleams in the sunlight and he splays his fingers across her name and tilts his head skyward.  And this is why the patch of grass next to the too fresh headstone is his new home._

_It’s too late for him to learn._

* * *

The sun is setting when they finally set off for the school.  Every so often, he sneaks peeks at her as she goes on and on about how they are going to be the best weapon-meister pair in their class.

He frowns.  How can he like her already?

It’s only when the hum of her voice goes silent that he is pulled out of his thoughts.

She’s looking expectantly at him and he has no idea what she just said.  “Uhh…”

“You weren’t listening.”  She punches him lightly on the shoulder and there’s more affection in it than he’s gotten from relatives he’s known his whole life.  “I did start rambling though.”

He trips over his tongue to keep her from getting the wrong idea.  “It’s not that I’m not excited either, it’s just–”

“A lot,” she finishes.

He looks up at the school, candles lighting up the descending darkness.  “Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth,” she says, also gazing up at the school, “I think you’ll do well.”  She gives him a grin.  “I won’t let you fail.”

He returns her grin.  “That’s a relief.”

There’s an awkward pause and he glances at his watch.  “I should get back to the hotel.”

“Right,” she says quickly.  “We’ll work out living arrangements tomorrow.”

He nods.  “Fine by me.”

“Yes!”  She claps her hands together once and begins to walk off before turning abruptly.  “Bye, Soul!”

He hesitates for a moment and then he turns on his heel, waving two fingers in farewell lazily.  “See you, Maka.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set shortly after the Salvage arc.

On the nights when she’s the one that can’t sleep, Maka turns over and watches Soul, counting off sheep in time of the rise and fall of his chest. Moonlight streaming through his window temporarily erases the shadows underneath his eyes and the relaxed ease of his brow makes him appear almost childlike, a peace diffusing through their link she has never felt when he’s awake.

Soul is never closer than when he is asleep and it scares her sometimes. 

Falling into the habit of sleeping together was an accident after all.  After Kid’s rescue, there hadn’t been enough energy to do more than loop arms with each other and trudge home, collapsing on Soul’s bed in a pile of tangled limbs and sleeping until noon.  That night when she plopped down on his bed again, he’d quirked his eyebrow and she yawned back in reply as she pulled the sheets over her head and that had been the most they had addressed the topic. 

Residual whispers from the Envy chapter find fertile ground to bloom in her dreams, however.  They crop up when she least expects them and twist his tacit agreement into him simply allowing her to take the lead again and she’s convinced one day he is going to wake up and demand exactly what right she had intruding on his privacy.

But returning to her room is an impossibility-she’s in far too deep to ask him what he really thinks about their situation and she knows going back to her bed would create more problems than solve them.  So she leaves things the way they are and simultaneously nurtures and battles the garden of worry on her own.

She tries to shove her thoughts to her side and trust that he wants her there but there is only so much room in her mind and the garden seems to have sprouted everywhere.

The breaking point comes on a particularly bad night when sleep is especially evasive.  She freezes as Soul flips around suddenly.  “You talk a lot.”

“Wha-” She realizes too late that her feelings must have been bleeding through their link, two seconds from leaping off the bed when he takes her hand.

She focuses on the orange of his shirt and coolness of his palm instead of meeting his eyes.  “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he yawns, running his thumb over her knuckles.  “Stay close, alright?”

A conversation builds in their shared silence before she answers.  She squeezes his hand.  “Okay.”

* * *

 

On the nights when he’s the one who can’t sleep, Soul turns on his side and watches Maka-it’s become the only way he can even be sure she’s there anymore. The furrow of her brow is visible even in the inkiness of the room, her breathing shallow and staccato. Although she is asleep, some part of her is always in motion, whether it’s a twitching hand or the soundless movement of her lips. And through all of this, where the beat of her soul used to fill the lulls in his, there is nothing but silence and dead space.

Maka is never further away than when she is sleeping and it terrifies him.

In the day, she is her usual self, quick retorts to his sarcasm and bright smiles even with what lays ahead of them. But as well- practiced as he is at wearing masks, it doesn’t take Soul long to see there is something hidden in her smiles, a nervous energy in her steps veiled as determination.

He doesn’t say anything in the early days because the change starts in the aftermath of the Book of Eibon and he figures if he still has a few scars from his experience in the Envy chapter, she must have even more-after all, she was the one who crumbled and ended their partnership.

He says nothing about that either because he’d felt her shame in her apology and didn’t want to add to it but that it’d been Maka to break and not him had taken Soul by surprise-he is used to being the one who leaves, not the one who is left behind.

And that’s why he doesn’t make so much as a single comment when she makes the right side of his bed her new sleeping spot. He takes it as a good sign, respects the boundaries Maka puts in her sleep and is certain that in time she will reach out to him about whatever haunts her dreams.

Soul believes in this until he wakes up one morning and realizes the distance that’s grown between them in her sleep hasn’t dissipated in the sunlight.

For days afterwards, he agonizes over if the Black Blood has made a home in her, wonders if he’s doing more harm than good by being so close to her at night but every time he mentions it or Eibon, she changes the subject.

Desperation makes him pluck up the courage to ask if she’s okay as they’re settling into bed for the night.

“Of course I am,” she replies with a yawn. She doesn’t leave any room for her to respond and turns on her side. “Good night.”

He stares at the back of her head for a long moment before also turning around.

* * *

_The mind he i_ s _dreaming in i_ s _not his own. A harsh, unforgiving light washes everything in his surroundings out in a white haze, like morning fog._

_In the center of it all stands Maka talking with grey-toned version of himself._

_She doesn’t notice Soul as he walks up to the two, locked in a conversation with his dreamself._

_“But why are you leaving?” Her hands clench and her throat bobs as she swallows hard. “I told you I was fine!”_

_The dream Soul scoffs. “You’re falling apart at the seams and everyone can see that. How could a someone like that be deserving of being meister to a Deathscythe?”_

_“Lord Death said-“_

_He cuts her off.  “You’ve only heard his point of view. You never asked mine. Do you think I want you as my partner?”_

_“But, but-” Maka shakes her head rapidly. “I’ve worked hard to be a good partner.”_

_“Didn’t pay off much in Italy, did it?”_

_Something in her expression shatters. “That’s changed,” she whispers._

_“And what do you call the Book of Eibon?” The fake Soul takes a step forward. “You’re constantly trying and failing to live up to someone you can never be-“_

_“I’m doing this for us-“_

_“-to someone who doesn’t even bother to visit-“_

_“No-”_

_“-in spite of **all** the letters you send her because she sees the exact same thing that I do-”_

_“Stop.”_

_“You will never be good enough for anyone.”_

_“STOP!”_

Maka’s cry is ringing in his ears as Soul’s eyes fly open, heart pounding in his chest.

Whatever block she had put up in their link has broken down with her nightmare: worry pricks relentlessly at his mind while fear creeps down his spine and doubt bores a hole in his stomach.

But next to him, Maka is completely silent and somehow that is much worse than her screams.

He flips around and stares into her eyes, widened in surprise. Their connection slams shut and he knows if he lets on that he saw her dream, she’ll shut down and if he tries to reassure her, she won’t believe him.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles, taking her hand and pulling it to his chest.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“S’okay,” he yawns as he wends his fingers with hers and rubs the back of her hand with his thumb. His eyes move back to hers. “Stay close, alright?”

Maka says nothing but the faintest echo of her soul sounds in his and for a long time, they listen to it together.

She squeezes his hand.  “Okay.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from skadventuretime on tumblr! Have a high school AU drabble.

There are days when Soul feels like there are spiders crawling in his veins, a hole gnawing away in his stomach and an inferno burning in his chest; his thoughts are like bullets then-they ricochet mercilessly in his head but they never quite hit their mark and somehow that is worse than if they did.

His therapist calls it general anxiety disorder, he calls it hell.

Whatever it is, it chooses to strike the moment he enters Shibusen Academy for the Creative and Gifted.

Three high schools in three years, it tells him. And the only reason he’s here, it reminds him, is for the strings his parents pulled in their adamant refusal to admit he is the first Evans in three generations born without musical talent running in his blood.

He flattens his hands against his sides, pretends he doesn’t feel them shaking, pretends he isn’t on the verge of throwing up and finds his way to the room for orientation.

There are only a handful of entering juniors in the room; a blue-haired gymnast calling himself Black Star hails Soul and attaches himself to him as if he’s known him for life. His constant stream of comments and asides is an easy enough beat for Soul to nod and move along to but it only takes one glimpse into the musical halls during the tour of the school to shatter his false sense of security.

There is a moment between when he catches sight of the piano and he remembers himself that Soul is back on that stage: knees shaking as he gazed frozen in place at his parents’ disappointed faces in the audience, heart beating _failurefailurefailure_.

But he has become an expert in weaving and maintaining facades and even though the rest of the world becomes nothing more than hazy figures, he is okay, and even though he hears nothing but a dull buzz against his ears, he is okay and even though his hands are clenched so tightly in his pockets, he is _okay._

The bell for lunch sounds more like a starting gun for a relay and he treats it as such, bolting off and leaving Black Star with one hand raised and calling after him.

By some stroke of luck, the first auditorium he enters is empty and dark. He sinks into a seat, holds his head back and pushes his palms against his temples as if he can glue the pieces of his sanity back together or crush the monster in his mind that never lets him rest.

He manages to do neither but he does fall into a fitful doze. His panic settles into a low thrum as he slips further into sleep and away from the rest of the world.

A soft click as a spotlight on stage turns on jolts Soul back into consciousness and he nearly leaps from his chair. On the stage, a girl in a green leotard and golden hair bound up in a bun paces the stage, muttering to herself. She’s too far away to spot him though and he relaxes.

Checking the time, he finds lunch has long come and passed but the familiar wave of apathy and numbed fatigue after a panic attack keeps him from being too concerned. He leans back in his seat and yawns.

The girl comes to a stop center stage and faces the auditorium and even though he is sure she can’t see him, Soul slumps in his seat a little more.

For a moment, she is completely still, then she bursts into movement, cutting through the air like a blade. Like a raging storm, there is something achingly devastating and beautiful in the way she dances across the stage. The magnetic intensity in her eyes enraptures Soul but it is something he cannot name in her dance that resonates somewhere in him.

She comes to a stop much like how she started and sweeps the empty seats a low bow. When she lifts her head, her eyes lock with Soul’s.

He jumps to his feet, leftover panic coming to life again.

“Wait!” Her voice is as commanding as the way she dances and he stands in place and watches as she bounds up the steps like gravity doesn’t exist for her.

Up close, she is not half as tall as she seems on stage but her presence is electric. The girl places a hand on her hip. “Who are you?” Her eyes light on his face suspiciously, still managing to glint even in the dim light of the auditorium. “Who sent you to spy on me?”

Words knot on his tongue. “No one,” he finally manages. “I’m new and I thought it was empty.” He scratches his head. “I fell asleep here,” he admits.

She scrutinizes him for another moment before relenting. “All right, I believe you.”

That prompts a snort from him. “Thanks.”

“You can never be too sure,” she retorts, chagrin creeping into her voice. “It can get really competitive in the dancing program.”

“Apparently.”

“Well, now that I know you’re not a spy,” she says, pushing back a lock of hair that escaped from her bun, “What did you think?”

“What does it matter?” He scrambles for an excuse. “I don’t know anything about those kinds of dance techniques.”

“That’s _why_ it matters,” she says. “My teacher says I’ve been having trouble connecting with the audience.” Her gaze clouds and her lips purse together. “I don’t know what it is that’s not good enough.”

The part of his soul that saw himself in her chimes out again.

“You were saturated sunlight,” he blurts.

“Sunlight?” Her brow furrows.

“You looked like sunlight when you were dancing.” He tries again-he speaks his feelings in music, not words. “And you move like a song.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

He can tell nothing from her voice. “If that makes sense,” he adds quickly.

“It does.” She shifts from one foot to the other. “Thank you.”

She holds out her hand. “I’m Maka.”

Her palm is warm against his skin and he returns her smile. “Soul.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the prompt Confession for SoulxMaka week on tumblr! I took a different interpretation of confession, enjoy~

There are days when his words don’t reach her.

It’s never more than an instant before she catches herself, only the slightest hesitancy in her words as she answers his question a beat too late, but as someone well-versed in the experience of being rooted and trapped in the twisted brambles of his thoughts, he knows. She moves too quickly nowadays, putting back together a world nearly ripped apart by madness is a heavy responsibility and her determination to shoulder it all rivals Atlas, but he knows. Her smile is the same and the brightness in her eyes is the same but he looks at her once she has collapsed on their bed for the night, traces the circles under her eyes with a feather light touch, and he knows.

For a few weeks, he wavers. He is still used to being the one needing to be pulled out of their head and to be on the other side is disconcerting, especially when all he has is instinct whispering in his ear that all is not quite right.

So he says nothing and studies Maka. She is motion and rapidfire rhythm; she doesn’t go stagnant like he does when the thoughts etched in his mind become his reality. The best way to wear a mask is to act as if there is no mask, after all, and Maka has always contained too much energy for her body to hold.

She tucks herself away in plain sight; it’s a magic trick of sorts-she disappears but as soon as he calls her name, she is there again. There is no increase in distance, Maka still takes up the right side of his bed every night and wakes up with her arm looped around his, and no wall she shoves between them, only a small silence in the beats of her soul that did not exist before.

Even the moments she retreats inside herself aren’t something he can complain about, start a fight, do something _(anything)_ to get her talking. All he can do is hover and wait for Maka to come to him, like she has always done with him. He learns a new kind of frustration, the kind where a person is in front of him, wounded and bleeding, and there is still nothing he can do.

In his desperation, he goes to the library. For an academy centered around killing and collecting the souls of the damned, there is not much in the section on mental health but still he gathers each book and pours over them one by one. There is a distant shiver of recognition that pricks its way down his back as he reads through certain sections but batting away his demons has become as second nature as breathing and Oni is no longer there to agitate them.

Still, he has a headache by the end of it all; the speech he’s been crafting over the past weeks is now muddled by therapyspeak and there is no way Maka won’t see exactly through him as soon as he opens his mouth. The frustration grating underneath his skin sharpens into needlepoints as he trudges home and avoids looking at the mass of darkness hanging where the moon used to be.

Maka looks up at him from the couch when he enters the apartment. Green eyes framed by the book she holds in front of her face peer up at him. She’s bundled in one of the many hoodies she’s stolen from him over the years. “Have fun at the library?”

He masks his surprise at finding her relaxing for once with a small shrug. “There’s a lot of books there.”

“So I’ve heard.” She rolls her eyes and it’s almost easy to believe nothing is wrong. “And what kind of books kept you so enthralled all afternoon?”

He goes with the first answer that pops in his head. “History of death scythes.” He shrugs again. “Thought I’d get a better idea of what I’m in for.”

The book snaps shut and Maka sets it beside her, stretching. “Sounds fascinating.”

His stomach plummets; she’s vanished again. She’s rising from the couch and walking towards him but she’s not there, she’s not anywhere, and his patience finally snaps.

She’s speaking. “We should get dinner star-”

“Do you want to dance?”

Her eyes blink once, twice, before she meets his gaze. She is close enough that he can see the faint blush bloom from her neck to her face. “What?”

“Dance?” He clears his throat, holds out a hand, and ignores the flush rising in his face. “Dance with me?”

Maka doesn’t question the sudden request like he thought she would. “There’s no music.” Even as she speaks, she reaches out to take his hand.

In response, he plays a song through their link and watches as her eyes widen in recognition as the music Oni played for them when they first danced in his mind winds from his end of their link to hers.

They begin to move at the same time, drifting slowly in something between a waltz and rhythmic sway in silence. Maka has moved her gaze to somewhere just beyond him, although the rapid flutter of her pulse in her fingertips tells him that she is very much present and here. His thumb strokes up and down her knuckles as they dance-he has always spoken better in actions than words and he hopes she hears him now.

When the song fades to an end, they stay close to each other, hands linked together. For a moment, they stand in silence and then Maka’s eyes lift up to his, her face so close to his that he feels her breath tickle his skin.

Her lips part; he can finally feel the words she’s been holding in on her tongue and he breathes in and waits.

A pleasant swoop rushes through his stomach as she presses her lips to his instead. He responds automatically; it’s exactly what he’s daydreamed about more times than he cares to count but disappointment roils faintly in his chest. They’re closer than where they began but now he can taste whatever Maka’s been burying in herself.

She’s smiling when they break apart though, the beats of quiet in her soul aren’t as loud, and there is something in her eyes that says he finally reached her. Twining her fingers with his, she says, “Dinner?”

He answers by squeezing her hand and swallowing his question. “Yeah.”

* * *

Soul is woken up by a fist solidly connecting with his nose. He flies into a sitting position, arm raised to transform and eyes darting across the darkness of the room when he feels an elbow jab into his side.

In all of these weeks of constant movement, the only time Maka is relatively still is in her sleep, only moving to shift closer to Soul. But she thrashes like she’s drowning now, inaudible whispers falling from her mouth.

It takes minutes of shaking her shoulder and calling her name for her eyes to snap open and even then she stares blankly at the ceiling before her gaze moves to Soul. Her hair clings to the side of her face as she pushes herself up.

She doesn’t ask what happened. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes flick up to him and he can see she’s halfway between here and disappearing. “Your nose is bleeding.”

“I went mad with Black Blood in Russia so it’s even.”

There’s a crack in her laugh. “Extenuating circumstances.”

“Still.”

She buries her face in her hands. “How did you pull yourself back?”

He pauses. “I’m not sure.”

“You find the hurt,” he says after a moment. “Make it your strength instead of your weakness.”

It’s quiet and then Maka lifts her face from her hands.

He waits.

“Everywhere,” she whispers. She leans ever so slightly against him. “It’s everywhere.”

He brushes her hair back and meets her gaze. “And you’re still here.”

She lets out a hitched sob. “Am I?”

“You are.” Raising a hand, he cups her cheek. “And I’ll remind you of that every time.”

She exhales but says nothing for a long time.

Then her arms wrap around him. “Okay.” 

 

 


End file.
